


Fear

by Kawaiibooker



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Also Ocelot is gay for Snake pass it on, Angst, BB whump, Badass Ocelot, Blood Loss, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Poisoning, i'm not even sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Fear’s voice echoes in the clearing, his mad eyes the last thing Naked Snake sees before a deafening explosion overwhelms his senses. It’s his barely perceptible flinch – muscles locking up in indecision for a moment too long, his instincts falling prey to blood loss and exhaustion – that marks his failure."</p><p>When Snake crumbles, it's up to Ocelot to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to the fight against The Fear.
> 
> Beta-read by candeloro.

The Fear’s voice echoes in the clearing, his mad eyes the last thing Naked Snake sees before a deafening explosion overwhelms his senses. It’s his barely perceptible flinch – muscles locking up in indecision for a moment too long, his instincts falling prey to blood loss and exhaustion – that marks his failure.

The feeling of arrows piercing his flesh in several points whites out every other sensation. Snake staggers back from the sheer _force_ of it, clenching his jaw hard to stifle the scream stuck in his throat. _I have to move_ , he thinks, his stealth training finally kicking in but finds that he has collapsed to his knees instead. _I have to..._ The trees in front of him blur into a mess of greens and browns, the ringing in his ears clouding his mind like the broken transmission of a–

 _Radio–_ The thought is like the spark of a dying fire. Snake’s numb fingers fumble for the device, already cramping with the effect of the poison – _your limbs will be paralyzed_ , whispers The Fear in his head – but he shakes his head in defiance. His vision is dotted with black when he hits the switch, the number 145.73 blinking into existence on the display.

Snake is unconscious by the time the static is replaced by a female voice calling out to him.

*

Ocelot makes his way through the undergrowth in a near-silent crouch, his movements carrying the distinct elegance and fluidity of his namesake animal. The tremors that shook the very ground mere seconds ago have stopped, the constant sounds of life for once silent as every being holds its breath in the wake of the explosion.

It had been on a hunch that Ocelot had decided to make his way to the outer compound, silently hoping to find _him_ there. The fascination with his self-appointed rival is a constant buzz in his mind. Twice already has the foreigner bested him – admittedly their last meeting had been rudely interrupted before they could properly settle the score. It’s that challenge he now craves to the point of thinking about little else, so he lied to his superiors with ease about the intentions of this unscheduled mission and left.

He enters The Fear’s clearing carefully, knowing it to be booby-trapped at every turn, while narrowed eyes scan the damage done to it. The smell of burnt flesh is strongest here, as are the traces of a recent fight. _A fight he didn’t win_ , Ocelot thinks as he recognizes The Fear’s final move in the vast number of arrows spread in a wide radius. He knows them to be poisoned, deadly to anyone in mere minutes, as The Fear has pointed out countless times when the tension got high between them. Ocelot sneers. _It serves the bastard right._

It also means he’s on the right track – after all, only _he_ could have driven The Fear to this–

Suddenly his foot is caught on something he didn’t see in the tall grass, the man stumbling ungracefully but managing to catch himself. His heart leaps as he draws his revolvers with almost no gun-slinging, expecting everything from a loose trap to a wild animal–

What he does not expect is to see the very person he’s looking for down the barrel of his guns. Ocelot freezes, taking in the slumped posture and the pale face with wide eyes before registering the spots of red spreading on the otherwise flawless camouflage.

_Oh, shit._

*

Ocelot always begrudgingly admired The Fear’s venom for its effectiveness, deeming the method sufficient to silently kill a target from a distance although secondary to his revolvers in every other aspect, of course.

He’s cursing it now as he steps closer to the downed soldier, then kneels in front of him. A small radio device is blinking at him, the red light showing a live connection to frequency 145.73. Without hesitation he turns it off, then starts righting the other man with a strong grip to his shoulder. Ocelot suppresses a wince at the sheer amount of arrows that succeeded in finding their target and catalogues the different supplies he’ll need to treat him – then ceases movement entirely.

_Why am I helping him?_

Ocelot feels oddly lost for a moment. This is the person who thoroughly humiliated him and his ocelots on their first encounter, the one he called a “filthy American dog” just a few weeks ago. The Boss had given him intel on Naked Snake and warned him with unusual pride in her voice that the American could match his skills in a fight and she had been right... In fact, he should be glad that The Fear has taken care of the problem for him.

 _But there’s still a duel to settle,_ he thinks grimly, searching through his bags for his knife and the antitoxin; because he may be all that, but he is also the person who has caught his interest like no other before him.

 _Ocelots are proud creatures, after all – and I’m not ready to share_ my _prey._

Pushing away his inner turmoil to deal with at another time, Ocelot concentrates once again on his unconscious rival. Sweat has started to bead on his forehead, blurring the lines of the face paint that had concealed him so well; Snake had been all but invisible to him until he literally stumbled upon him. The pained look on his face and his shallow breathing doesn't bode well either, the spider venom doing quick work of the strong body as it has been designed to do.

 _I can’t stay here for long_. After all, he can't be the only person who heard the explosion. _But if I move him, the poison will spread faster..._ “Shit”, he mutters darkly into his cravat, taking off his jacket and gloves to get them out of the way before he gets started.

First he rolls up the sleeve of the camo, injecting the clear fluid of the antidote directly into Snake’s bloodstream and massaging the point of entry to maximize its effect. He can’t do much more to draw out the poison, so he takes the next step: removing the arrows. He sees four of them protruding from Snake’s body – left shoulder, abdomen, right underarm and thigh – though none of them have hit any vital organs. _The luck of this guy..._

He angles the knife beside the first arrow in the soldier’s shoulder, taking a deep breath before pushing it along the arrow’s shaft to seek out the tip stuck deep in his flesh. With careful handling he manages to carve around it and pull it out, instantly covering the gaping cut with gauze to staunch the blood flow before wrapping it tightly with bandages he finds in the other’s backpack. Snake doesn’t even twitch during the whole process, his missing response clearly a sign that the serum hasn’t worked through the paralysis yet. _He isn’t dead, though,_  Ocelot confirms as he checks the pulse. It’s weak, but still there and he’s grateful for small mercies.

Ocelot works steadily through the second and third arrow in the same way, bloodied hands precise in their movements. Then, at the fourth wound, his concentration is broken by a low moan. The Russian’s eyes fly to Snake’s, meeting a flash of pale blue before the soldier throws a punch at him with his injured right arm – an instinctive reaction judging by the dazed expression on his face. Ocelot deflects it easily, as there’s no real force behind it, and pins Snake by his unharmed shoulder to the tree behind him. He answers the American’s aggravated growl with a hiss of his own: “Stop, you idiot!”

Snake squints his eyes in an effort to focus, although his blown pupils prove he’s not nearly conscious enough to manage it. “Who...?” his voice sounds like the guttering of a drowning motor, grating and deep. Then, after a painful looking swallow: “... Ocelot?”

Only when he feels the other relax slightly does Ocelot release his tight hold, instead supporting him with a hand cupping the soldier’s neck. The pulse against his fingers is fast – too fast – pumping poisoned blood through Snake’s body. Ignoring his own hammering heart, he curses internally, clenching his jaw in frustration.

“Snake” he addresses him in a tone of forced calm, noticing his drooping eyes. “I need you to do two things, okay?” When Snake doesn’t respond, he shakes him out of his stupor _gently_ – which means he gives him a harsh push against the tree.

“What” comes the mumbled reply, but Ocelot will take what he can get for now.

“I need you to stay awake” – Snake nods tiredly, contradicting this by closing his eyes; another shove makes him snap them open again – “and I need you to trust me.”

Even in his delirious state, the soldier snorts at that. “We’re enemies, Ocelot.” It’s the first full sentence Snake has uttered since regaining consciousness and Ocelot is gingerly hopeful about it, overlooking the fact that Snake is right. _There’s time for_ that _later._

The American sounds endlessly tired when he says: “I don’t... trust anyone. Not anymore–“ but Ocelot is having none of his bullshit.

"Well then you better start doing it _now_  because I’m trying to save your life here, if you want it or not.”

There’s silence after that, the only noise being Snake’s labored breathing. The Russian can tell the exact moment he relents, slumping back in defeat. Ocelot positions himself over the other’s legs, careful not to put any pressure on any of the wounds as he draws his knife again.

“This is gonna hurt” he warns, giving Snake a steadying look. “I need you to stay as still as possible. Think you can handle that?” The soldier merely casts a glance at the last arrow with a grimace, then balls his hands to loose fists in preparation.

Ocelot takes it as confirmation. Without hesitation, he continues where he left off, trying to ignore the pained grunts above him as he gradually draws out the sharp point of the arrow where it lodged itself between muscle tissue and bone. He can feel Snake tense his whole body to keep from moving; the man groans in agony when the arrow is dislodged and removed in one last tug, then collapses back against the tree behind him.

He looks like death warmed over, barely managing to stay awake much less respond when Ocelot tries to gain his attention again. The Russian lets him be for the moment, relieved to notice that he has regained most of his mobility and seems to be breathing easier, although he’s paler than ever - hardly a surprise, considering the amount of blood that stains their clothes and the ground around them.

Ocelot starts gathering up the things he scattered in his hurry to save his rival, shaking his head at his own ridiculous situation; he tries to clean his hands with some left-over gauze, but gives up with a bone deep sigh. _What am I going to do with him now?_ he asks himself, resting his hands for the first time since he found the injured man.

Ocelot knows he can’t protect him the moment the Cobras inevitably find them, lest he risks his own life to do it. _It won’t do for one or_ both _of us to die, though._ Besides, he has to protect his unit: the ocelots would be endangered if he, their leader, turned out to be a traitor.

 _Why couldn’t you be as boring as all the others?_ He almost says it out loud. Snake is asleep by now – or unconscious, Ocelot can’t really tell – looking peaceful for the first time despite the red covering his uniform in uneven blots. If Ocelot looks past the fatigue and pallor, he can even see a certain _innocence_ in his handsome features.

He realizes then that he already made his choice when he decided to help Snake. For better or worse, he is now intricately linked to the soldier’s fate: Without his interference, Snake would have died in the most horrible way possible, slowly suffocating to death whilst being completely unable to _move_ or do _anything_ to stop it.

Ocelot also finds he won’t regret his actions, even if they end up causing his death.

Shaking himself out of his musings, the Russian puts his discarded gloves into his pockets and ties his jacket around his hips before arranging Snake’s limp body carefully, hoisting him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry with a huff. He feels blood dripping over his fingers and his uniform, but ignores it with tightened lips as he carries him into the thicker parts of the forest. If he can’t personally protect Snake, he can at least make sure he’ll have a fighting chance of waking up and recovering - away from the Cobras eyes.

Ocelot knows now that Snake is merely sleeping – he mumbles bits and pieces of coherent sentences in a dizzying amount of languages while he dreams, undeterred by the uncomfortable hold he’s in. Ocelot barely understands half of it, but is surprised to hear his own name in between the foreign words once or twice; the warmth he feels at that is unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

It takes close to an hour to find a spot he’s satisfied with: The secluded cave has access to fresh water and is almost impossible to see from the outside. _If his survival skills are as good as The Boss made them out to be, he’ll be fine._ He lets the American sink gently to the ground, resting his prone body against the cave wall and immediately starting to check the dressing of his wounds for additional damage. Everything is as well as it can be, considering the circumstances.

Ocelot is reluctant to go, though. He finds himself checking Snake’s pulse – recovering steadily – and making sure he has his equipment in arm's reach when he wakes up. Then he just sits beside him in a rare moment of calm, toying absently with the jammed bullet from their first encounter that he keeps around his neck.

The sun is setting by the time he finally takes his leave, glancing one last time at his rival. His look is met by half-lidded blue eyes, Snake sleepily nodding his good-bye in that minimalistic way of his.

"I’m not finished with you”, Ocelot answers with his signature hand gesture, the trace of a smile on his lips.

“You still owe me a duel.”


End file.
